No one called shotgun
by nepetation
Summary: Bucky needs to learn to slow down.


**/AN: magicsintheair is my beta!**

 **Im** **suuuuper late posting here, so sorry;;; I usually post to ao3 first so check their for slightly more consistent updates. There's gonna be a fic dump so I can get this account updated too;;/** **/**

Bucky Barnes wasn't in class again. It was Tuesday, and Bucky never came to their shared English class on Tuesdays, but all the same, Steve couldn't help but be disappointed.

Somehow the other boy's absence unnerved Steve, as it did every Tuesday morning. They weren't friends per say- far from it in fact- but there was something about the punk that Steve... admired? Envied? No word that came to mind felt like a match description.

They'd only recently started talking to each other, with only two months left in the school year, and while they don't have actual conversations, Steve liked to think the few words they exchanged counted for something. Like when Bucky apologised for hitting his desk after pushing his chair out too far; or when Bucky would tell him to copy his homework when Steve was out sick. Nothing more than a few sparsely-worded sentences, but nonetheless important in his book.

It wasn't for another two periods that he finally saw Bucky at lunch- not that he was looking. They didn't have any other classes together, so why would he be?

The other boy had his upper body slung over a table in the courtyard, legs outstretched and eyes closed. There was a burning cigarette in his mouth, and his eyes tensed each time the smoke escaped from the corners of a sigh. To Steve, he almost looked like a sleeping dragon.

But of course he wasn't sleeping, and of course he had to look up and catch Steve staring. He took the cigarette between two fingers, waving him over with the other hand, and grinned, wisps of smoke filling the gaps between his teeth. If it weren't for that smile, Steve probably would have gone back to the cafeteria after that uncomfortable moment of eye contact. (Okay, he would have obliged either way, but he liked to think he had more self control than he really had).

"Why weren't you in class?" Steve decided now was a good time as ever to ask about why he played hooky. He took a seat across from the other boy at the table.

The tight expression on Bucky's face showed that he wasn't expecting the question. He shrugged, taking another drag from his cigarette and looking up to blow it above their heads. "Everyone needs a break once in a while."

"Right." Steve didn't know what else to say to that.

They stared at each other in silence for a while after that. Conversations from nearby groups started to drift over but Steve forcibly shook them off. He didn't know what he was waiting for. Should he say something? Should he leave?

"So," Bucky finally cleared his throat and spoke. Well, that answered that. "Ever uh...?" He flicked the end of his cigarette and motioned toward it with his chin. The unfinished sentence, the unsaid word, hung heavy in the air between them.

Steve watched the ashes fall, only to be ground into the dirt by the heel of the other's boot. He shook his head; a firm no. He couldn't afford to even experiment with those things.

He was still watching those boots, tramping on the meager sprouts of grass as Bucky moved to sit next to him. He only looked up when the bench groaned and creaked. They were old as hell, some looked ready to snap with the right amount of weight. Luckily the two boys didn't press this one's limits that far.

"I'm gonna try something." Steve tried to ignore the warmth of the other boys thigh brushing against his own as they turned in their seats to face each other. Bucky was close. Really, really, really close. It made him uncomfortable, but not enough to move.

Instead he creased his brow, giving Bucky a cautious look. "Mind telling me what you're doing first?"

His only answer has a quick inhale on the cigarette, and a careful but stern hand on his cheek. This was where it clicked, and he realised what Bucky was trying to do. He could feel his shirt moving against his skin with how hard his heart was beating, and while Bucky's eyes went half lidded, focused on Steve's lips, his own were wide and frantic. He opened his mouth to protest, to explain why this was such a stupid idea, but Bucky was faster than he was and his breath was pushing smoke into Steve's mouth and their lips were just barely touching and-

His chest suddenly felt like it was shrinking in size, and raw coughs forced themselves from his throat. The smoke that followed only burnt his eyes. Everything hurt, his lungs were burning, he couldn't get a breath in, both between all the coughs and with his throat so tight now.

By now Bucky had realised what was going on and was frantic in issuing apologies, asking what the hell he should do, and chanting 'holy shit, holy shit, holy shit what's wrong, oh my god' like some sort of panicked mantra.

Of course he wouldn't know. They didn't talk often enough for Steve to expect him to. Struggling with his irregular breathing, the blond reach a hand up to his mouth, made a quick, desperate motion and pointed to his bag.

Bucky dove right in, almost dumping out the contents while searching. He guessed Steve had been mimicking and inhaler, and sure enough he found one in one of the many side pockets. Steve was quick to snatch it from him, and took eager puffs, looking to the other boy with a stern, though watery and red, look in his eyes.

"I t-told... told you I-" wheeze, "don't smoke."


End file.
